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Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Prose Works. 1892.

I. Specimen Days

118. November 8, ’76

THE FORENOON leaden and cloudy, not cold or wet, but indicating both. As I hobble down here and sit by the silent pond, how different from the excitement amid which, in the cities, millions of people are now waiting news of yesterday’s Presidential election, or receiving and discussing the result—in this secluded place uncared-for, unknown.